


Once

by cafephan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Post-breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafephan/pseuds/cafephan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He once tried to fall out of love, yet that was the one thing he had yet to master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once

He was lost.

Not in the sense of direction, nor in the sense of anything that could be helped. He was lost in the sense of bobbing along the crashing waves of life, ebbing along crevices of emotion he had long since visited.

He used to see in screaming colour, could once tell vibrant oranges from the fluorescent yellows, could once tell the electric purples from the brightest of pinks. Now, everything passed in a monotonous blur, grey being a highlight and black being the norm. Connotations had never been more ironic.

He used to be able to confidently speak his mind, when capacitating language was at its lowest ability and the babbles were repetition of adolescent thoughts which were abashed instantaneously. Now, he struggled to pluck up the courage to deliver the simplest polysyllabic, chose the weakest silence over the bravest volume.

He used to be able to see the world through the most imaginative of eyes, admire the birds tweeting in harmonic rhythm and admire the auburn of the leaves swirling in the gusts of the utmost intricacy. Now, there was the constant buzzing of the air-conditioner and the sweep of dust that had been abandoned months ago.

He used to be able to smile, grin at the silliest of things, laugh in the face of adversary. He used to be able to laugh along with the lame joke of his peers, and stare adoringly in the eyes of the man he could once call his own, and admire the blues and greens that intertwined in the returned stare. Now displayed a permanent frown etched onto his features, and his stare was on the hardwood flooring he never wanted in the first place. What a bittersweet metaphor.

He had tried to eat, but a stack of plates stood beside the sink, taunting him with the food he couldn’t keep down. He had tried to play away his feelings on the delicate keys of ivory, but the songbook remained on the same page as always, taunting him with the song he still couldn’t grasp. He had tried to write, but the notebook and pen laid messily on top of each other, taunting him with the empty lines he had once been able to fill excitedly.

He had tried to love, and he had succeeded. He was once lost in the galaxies of his lover’s eyes, shifting his gaze to the mop of dyed hair down to the toned chest he ran his fingers across tentatively. He was once lost in the galaxies of his lover’s eyes, he wondered if he would ever be a part of it. He pondered aloud what it would be like to be his lover’s forever, and he revelled in the smile the thought brought to his lover’s chapped, raw lips. He had tried to love, and he had more than succeeded.

He had tried to fall out of love once the nights grew colder and he had nobody to hold, no vibrant galaxies to be lost in with no plea for rescue. He tried to fall out of love, yet that was the one thing he had yet to master.

He once tried to lose himself in the life of a socialite, tried shopping with the girls. But where they gushed about the pastel pink stripes dashed with specks of golden glitter, he saw only as black as his lover’s hair, tinted with the shiniest of moonlight silver. Where they partook in the rich taste of the new seasonal caffeine trend, he tasted only his tears from the night before. Where they downed the milky beverage with the brightest of lip-glossed smiles, he stared down at his black liquid with the muddiest of tones, beaten only by his unwashed hair. Where they spoke about love, about their not so distant plans, he only saw his former lover’s eyes reflected in the crystal blue cups resting on the counter, meant for the children of which he would never now be able to give one a loving home.

He once tried to lose himself in the life of a socialite, tried drinking with the guys. But where they cheered over the foamy head of the golden alcohol as it trickled down their hands, he spared a lonely thought to the cans left in his fridge from months before, his former lover’s favourite that he couldn’t bear to part with. Where they lost themselves in the house anthems on the fluorescently lit dancefloor, he stayed in the shadows taunted with the beloved song of his former lover, a broken record which he just couldn’t shake. Where they locked lips with fellow clubbers, he bit his lip and stepped back further into the shadows, haunted with the brightest of blue that entered his mind as he closed his eyes. Where they spoke about love, about how they were settling down, he only saw his former lover’s lips on top of another, bodies pressed together eagerly, arms around neck and eyes squeezed tightly closed.

He tried to fall out of love, yet that was the one thing he had yet to master.

Now he stared at his flat, eerily quiet and deathly lonely. Stripped down for one when meant for two. He tried to fall out of love, yet he couldn’t succeed.

He once waited for the bathtub to fill, watched as the bubbles rode to the top and teetered on the brim. He once stood behind the bathtub, watching as the oils swirled beneath the surface. He wondered what it would be like to join them, watch as the bubbles swam above him. He wondered what it would be like to stay in such a position, never intending to return to its prior. He nearly pursued.

He once tried to type his feelings, seeking solace in anonymous typography. He wrote a sonnet, an ode, an emotive enigma wrapped in a metaphor, he wrote the word love. He copied and pasted, he hovered over send. He nearly pursued.

He once tried to lose himself in the life of an ideal, bought the materialistic lifestyle they once dreamed about when it was just the two of them in a cramped Manchester bedroom. He once tried to lose himself in the life of an ideal, bought the tickets to Tokyo that had been revealed as a dream from the lips that once kissed him oh so passionately. He once tried to lose himself in the life of an ideal, went to Japan alone and tried to revel in the luxury he had bought for himself. Tried to revel in the dream they had once shared when they spoke about their future together when it was just two of them in a spacious London bedroom.

Now, he couldn’t bring himself to leave his former lover’s side of the bed, though he hasn’t slept in weeks. Curled into himself as his head laid daintily on the pillow which once boasted his perfection. He curled into himself as he looked around the bedroom, silently highlighting all the places they had once kissed.

He once tried to get back to himself, claw his way back into his own life. He called everyone over, yet stayed in silence when they started conversation. He withdrew into the shell which his former lover helped bring him out of, the shell his lover would praise the disappearance of. He locked everyone out when they tried politely to be let in. He had once tried to get back to himself, yet that was what he had no desire to master.

He had once tried to believe the messages he got online, a barrage of _You’re not alone_ and _I care about/love you._ He tried to believe the messages he got online which were once said to him in person, said to him whilst his hair was played with absentmindedly and he stared into the galaxies that were utterly enticing. He tried to believe the messages he got online which were once said to him in person, said to him in the breaks between the peppered kisses.

He had once tried to fall out of love, he just couldn’t succeed.

He was lost.

Not in the sense of direction, nor in the sense of anything that could be helped. He was lost in the sense of having half a heart, being deprived of the beauty of sight in technicolour, lost in the sense of not being loved by the one you had dedicated your entirety to. He was lost in the sense of not being able to master the art of falling in love, when the reason for it had mastered the same thing far too long ago.

He had once tried to fall out of love with Phil Lester, yet that was the one thing he just couldn’t master. His love was unrequited, yet unequivocal, and that was why he just couldn’t succeed.


End file.
